


The Bentley (Or, The One in Which Aziraphale Gets Carsick)

by Wordgrrrl



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 12:27:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20546153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordgrrrl/pseuds/Wordgrrrl
Summary: Crowley’s driving habits result in a mess in the Bentley.





	The Bentley (Or, The One in Which Aziraphale Gets Carsick)

It was a wonder that Crowley had never killed anyone while behind the wheel of his beloved Bentley. 

In fact, considering the demon’s terrible driving skills, utter lack of regard toward rules, and a terminal case of road rage, it was a downright miracle that no one had died in a fiery wreck. 

However, on this day- in which Crowley was in a particularly cranky mood, and taking it out on the winding, gravel-covered, hedgerow-hugging roads of the English countryside- Aziraphale began to believe he would be the Bentley’s first casualty.

The demon was ranting, using both hands to articulate his indignation. The angel didn’t know what he was ranting about; he had stopped listening miles earlier, distracted by the flip-flops his stomach was making. 

When Crowley finally paused, realizing Aziraphale wasn’t appropriately responding to his rant, he glanced over at his companion, then did a double-take. 

“Well, now, what’s the matter with you?” he demanded. “Why have you gone that peculiar shade of..” He lowered his sunglasses to get a better look. “Green, I guess you’d say?”

Aziraphale squeaked and pointed at the road ahead. Crowley turned back just in time to see the Bentley bearing down on an elderly man crossing the road in front of them. The man actually had to perform a clumsy somersault to get out of the way of the incoming car.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” Crowley yelled out his open window. To the angel, he muttered, “Pretty spry for an old geezer, didn’t you think?”

“Rightofway,” Aziraphale mumbled. 

“Wha—?”

“I said, he had the right-of…. Oh, dear. Crowley, I think you had better…”

“Bugger!” The car swerved wildly as Crowley avoided the cat meandering across the road in front of them. Normally, he wouldn’t mind running over an animal who got in his way, but he knew he’d never heard the end of it if he offed one of God’s little furry creatures in front of the angel. 

Aziraphale made a strange gasping sound, his eyes wide and tearing and his hand clutching at his abdomen. “I think you’d better pull over,” he whispered.

“What’s the matter now?” Crowley demanded. “I didn’t hit it! See? Look in the rear view mirror, he’s scampered off, the smug little bastard.”

“Pull over, Crowley…”

“Would you just look?” Crowley insisted. “There’s not a single squished creature in the road! Not a splash of blood or guts anywhere! Not a single intestine anywhere!” 

And that was all it took. 

Aziraphale lurched forward and vomited between his knees, splashing sick over Crowley’s custom designed floor mats. Between heaves, he heard undignified screams coming from the driver’s seat: “Not in the Bentley! NOT IN THE BENTLEY!” 

The angel felt the car swerve, jolting to a stop on the side of the road. 

Unfortunately, the lack of motion didn’t help Aziraphale’s roiling stomach, and he kept his head bowed as he was sick over and over, until tears were tracing their way down his cheeks and mucous was dripping from his left nostril. With trembling hands he fumbled in his pockets for a handkerchief, and when he couldn’t find one he did the most distasteful thing he’d ever done in 6,000 years; he wiped his eyes and nose on the sleeve of his coat.

Whether it was the disgusting wiping, or the acrid mess on the floor, but when Aziraphale dared to raise his eyes and look at the driver, Crowley was staring at him in absolute horror. 

“I ah… I think I’ve gotten a little carsick,” the angel said weakly. 

“A little carsick?!” Crowley gasped. “This isn’t…. a little bit of carsick… this is a LOT of carsick! And BESIDES…. “ Crowley was flapping his arms now in agitation. “Angels aren’t allowed to get carsick!”

“And demons aren’t allowed to get driving licenses!” the angel cried. 

Crowley leaned in, yellow eyes flashing. “What makes you think I have a driving license?”

The angel stared at him for a long moment. Then he said, “I need to get out of this vehicle.”

“It’s not a vehicle!” Crowley shouted. “It’s a Bentley! I’ve had it for decades, since it was brand new!”

“Yes, I know!” Aziraphale snapped. “I’ve seen you polishing it with a cloth nappy and kissing it! You love this car more than…” He wanted to say, ‘me,’ but caught himself at the last moment. He’d humiliated himself enough for one day. 

“And a fat lot of good that all does me now!” Crowley shouted “This is all your fault!”

Aziraphale, who still felt so miserable and now had gotten his feelings hurt as well by the demon’s utter lack of compassion, turned his face away and began to quietly cry. 

“Stop that!” Crowley demanded. 

“I’m t-trying!”

“What were you thinking, spending so much time with humans. They’re wearing off on you, angel. Next, you’ll be crying over daytime television… and will you stop that ridiculous crying?” 

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale sobbed, hanging his head in shame and in pain; his stomach was still trying to expel nothing, resulting in heaves that felt like knives going through his abdomen.

“Okay, all right, just… just hang on.” With a wave of his hand, Crowley magicked away the sick from his beloved Bentley, as well as the mess trailing down the angel’s trousers and shoes. Then he handed a handkerchief to his friend, who took it with a grateful, “Th…thank you.” Aziraphale took a deep breath to steady himself, and just when he had gotten control over both his upset stomach and his tears, the demon muttered, “It’s gonna take more than magic to get that abhorrent smell out,” and to the demon’s dismay, the angel began to cry all over. 

“Okay, don’t, don’t… I…. Here! Let’s get a breath of fresh air!” Crowley practically leaped from the driver’s seat, and hurried to open Aziraphale’s door. Because the angel wasn’t feeling particularly steady, his friend grasped him gently by the elbow and half-carried him to a nearby park bench. There was a small pond, with ducks quacking and swimming in lazy circles.

As soon as they were sitting, the demon magicked a hot cup of black tea, with several Ginger Nuts on the saucer beneath it, and offered them. 

“It’ll help,” he said gruffly. “Ginger. It’s good for this sort of thing.”

The angel didn’t feel at all like eating, but he sipped at the tea- it was extra hot, with sugar and a splash of cream, like he preferred it- and nibbled at one of the biscuits. Crowley reached to take one of the biscuits, broke it into tiny pieces and fed it to the ducks, to show the angel he did care for God’s smaller creatures after all. 

Aziraphale, peering at him over the edge of his teacup with red, watery eyes, looked unconvinced. 

Then the demon did an amazing thing; he reached to awkwardly pat the angel’s back. He kept patting, and then rubbing small circles, and the angel kept sipping and nibbling, and after a while both of them felt better. 

“Do you always feel like this when I’m driving?” Crowley asked quietly. “Sick, I mean?”

“Sometimes,” Aziraphale nodded. He shrugged. “Most of the time.” 

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

The angel dropped his eyes. “I don’t know.” 

“Well, there’s nothing else to be done for it,” the demon said. “I simply won’t drive badly anymore.” When the angel rolled his eyes at him, he conceded, ‘Well… nine times out of ten. Can’t expect perfection now, can you?”

The angel smiled slightly. “No,” he said. “No one is perfect.” 

Crowley stood up. “Well, no time like the present,” he said. “Let’s go home.” 

Aziraphale’s stomach flip-flopped in anticipation. “I might be sick again,” he warned.

“Nah, you won’t,” the demon assured. “I’ll drive nice and easy. After all, you’re more important than some old car.” He began walking toward his Bentley, his hips swaggering, and Aziraphale followed him, a slight smile parting his lips.


End file.
